


inside out

by fourthdimnsion



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Experimental Style, M/M, Metaphors, Mild Horror, pretty sick metaphors i'd say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourthdimnsion/pseuds/fourthdimnsion
Summary: Gus softly slid his fingers through the scarred skin. Mike didn’t flinch this time.“Does it still hurt, somehow?”
Relationships: Mike Ehrmantraut/Gustavo Fring
Kudos: 5





	inside out

**Author's Note:**

> TW: blood and graphic content.

Mike was being held within Gus’ warm, gentle embrace. His wound was teared up and he could even feel the cool air roaming over the wet crimson liquid of his own, but he felt just fine with his touch.

Gus’ fingers roamed shyly over his skin and it even tickled, but he flinched when two of them slid inside his badly scarred injury. Yet, everything seemed just fine when Mike felt Gus’ lips on the top of his head, assuring him with a delicate kiss that didn’t make him stop anyway, but go further and further until his fingers wouldn’t be seen anymore. 

Mike had his whole button shirt opened and his pants on. However, it didn’t ease him from feeling naked, and maybe worse, vulnerable when he’s all open like that. His eyes dropped to the wound almost immediately when Gus made the slightest of the movements, and he saw his own blood smudging his bare hands. Curious. Gustavo would’ve worn gloves, plastic gloves, those yellow and not a single bit discrete ones. The skin-on-skin touch made him shiver a little, yet feel considerably less tense when he smelt the scent of alcohol in the air. It avoided him from feeling dizzy, from feeling sick with all the blood dripping down his belly, and how twisted it felt to feel comfort with so little. 

When Gus twirled his fingers, Mike squirmed and whimpered softly, getting back another kiss. Gus always had some precision in his hands thanks for all those years cooking and knowing how to handle a knife well. Mike could feel this same precision within the palm of his left hand holding him tight, squeezing him as if he’s telling that he’s close to finishing this. Mike could handle, he always managed to handle being broken and glued and broken and glued, countless times, and one of those he should even thank Gustavo for saving him. He should be more thankful for him. He groaned, and that was a thank you. 

Gus pushed a little further and Mike breathed deeply, his lips parted yet urging to moan, to groan by the way his belly contracted itself as a response to the immeasurable pain. He could feel him. He could feel him as a whole, and it was bizarre; but that’s how it felt, nowadays, to allow someone in. Felt like someone was invading his personal space, his personal, he as a whole himself. But Gus, as much as it hurted, managed to make it as bearable as possible. 

  
  


Gus softly slid his fingers through the scarred skin. Mike didn’t flinch this time. 

“Does it still hurt, somehow?” 

One of Mike’s eyebrows twitched, and he particularly didn’t feel like answering. Gus patiently moves next to him, and some familiarity approaches his senses when he inhales the smell of their clothes and the feel of the fabric from the pajamas. Two fingers kept roaming gently over his healed wound, but Mike had the twisted impression that he could open it as easily as it was closed. 

He exhales. “It’s been a long time since it doesn’t,” he says. Yet, Mike is aware of his digits. They’re warm and delicate and they seemed to be shy, and he doesn’t want more than caress him under his shirt. Gus grew fond of this gesture without hiding any second intentions, and Mike doesn’t complain, mostly, whenever he does that. He even enjoys the feeling of his warm palm over his belly. 

Mike tilts his head to his side and his blue eyes lock with dark brown ones. It’s so vast that he’s lost, but he likes when there’s a trail made out of stars his eyes gather whenever Gustavo sees him. It makes him think that it’s what gives them humanity within the place they were thrown in. It makes him think there’s a fraction of sanity out there, inside them.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 2:30 am of the day 31 so maybe it's a little rubbish, but thanks for reading anyways


End file.
